


Chaotic Christening

by FreyaOdin



Series: Synchronicity [7]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bondage, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Humor, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Kink, Moving In Together, Musicians, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 07:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17576141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaOdin/pseuds/FreyaOdin
Summary: Moving in together comes with its own set of operational challenges. And rewards.





	Chaotic Christening

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to [ Ehcimocs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ehcimocs) for betaing! More of her work can be found on her [ wattpad account](https://www.wattpad.com/user/Ehcimocs).

The moving plans need to be made sooner than Mitch thinks, because while he may have forgotten his lease was up soon, his landlord didn’t. He either has to renew for another year, or move out by the end of June. He tries to buy some time by asking to go month-to-month, but the lady in the landlord office just laughs at him.

It sucks, because Scott has another five months left on  _ his _ lease. He can break it, of  course, but if his landlord doesn’t find another tenant in the first month or two, Scott will bankrupt himself trying to pay for both his old apartment and half of whatever new one they find, because rent in LA is no fucking joke.

But luck is with them, because the day before Mitch has to make his final decision on whether to renew, Scott manages to charm his landlord into letting him move into one of his building’s three bedroom apartments without penalty,  _ if _ he can move at the end of July. 

They hastily arrange for a tour and surprisingly, they’re both pleased with what they see. The master bedroom is a good size, with a large walk-in closet that Scott thinks is ridiculous and Mitch knows is perfect. There’s an ensuite with a beautiful multi-head shower that has both of them thinking filthy, filthy thoughts, if the way Scott catches his eye over the rental agent’s head is anything to go by. There are two other bedrooms, both small, but the larger one is big enough to squeeze in Scott’s baby grand, and Mitch’s decks and keyboard can fit in the smaller, so they’ll each have adequate space for their musical needs. The second bathroom is nothing special, but the living room is spacious and open to both the kitchen and a dining nook. There’s a decent-sized balcony as well. The rent is steep, but considering Mitch’s increased income from Giana’s album sales, and the amounts they were each paying for their separate apartments, it’s doable, so it doesn’t take much discussion before they’re happily signing papers.

The plan, as well as it worked out, does have one complication in that Mitch will need to move into Scott’s insufficiently-sized current apartment for the whole of July. There’s no way all of his stuff will be able to come with him, even after he and Scott purge the least useful version of duplicate furniture. Which leads them to today; they’re spending it packing up everything of Mitch’s that can go into storage until the final move is complete.

“What about these?” Scott asks, holding up a pair of T.U.K. creepers.

“No, I just got those.”

Scott points to another pair in the keep pile. “They look exactly like those.”

They do  _ not _ . “Those have gold glitter on the soles. These have pink.”

Scott stares at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“They go with different outfits!”

“You only need to store them for a month!”

“It’s one pair of shoes, Scott.”

Scott gestures wildly at the -- okay  _ substantial  _ \-- keep pile on Mitch’s bedroom floor.  “You already have eight hundred others. Seriously, how many do you need for thirty-one days?”

“First of all, there’s hardly eight hundred there. And it’ll be at least thirty- _ five _ days before we realistically start getting my stuff out of storage. Probably closer to forty.”

The level of incredulity Scott manages to pack into his expression is impressive. “You get that space is limited, right? Not only does your stuff need to fit, but so do we? Maybe with some spare room for air so we can breathe?”

He might, maybe, possibly, have a point. 

“Fine,” Mitch mutters, letting his pink creepers get tossed into the storage pile. He pouts for a moment, before smiling fondly at his Carvela Swedens and lovingly placing them in the keep pile.

Exasperated Scott would be really hot if he wasn’t so annoying. “Those take up twice as much space!”

“Some of us need a little help when we want to be tall!”

Scott sighs. “I can’t believe I thought the walk-in closet would be too big.”

Mitch can’t believe that either.

***

_ It’s dark in Scott’s music room, as dark as it is outside. Mitch can’t make out much of his reflection, just a flickering shadow in the glass as he moves, nothing more.  _

_ It’s too bad because he knows he looks amazing right now, standing naked except for his high-heeled ankle boots and the matching leather cuffs on his wrists. The boots put him on just the right level for Scott and his longer legs, while the cuffs, even without being attached to anything, remind him he belongs there. _

_ Mitch’s hands are flat on the wall, braced on either side of the window frame. His arms are bent, muscles flexing as he rocks in place, absorbing the momentum. Scott’s hands, meanwhile, are everywhere, grasping at his hips, smoothing across his chest, tugging on his shoulders, or stroking along his cock. They’re warm and sure and yet still make Mitch shiver. _

_ Scott smiles into Mitch’s neck. Mitch can’t see it -- the lack of reflection really is too bad -- but he can feel the curve of it on his skin. He likes the fact that he makes Scott smile so much.  _

_ He gasps as his prostate is pushed just right. His head tilts back to rest on Scott’s shoulder and Scott wraps an arm around him, holding him close. _

_ “That’s it,” Scott says, smoothing his free hand over Mitch’s hip to pull at his thigh. It changes the angle of his stance just enough for the thrusts to feel deeper, the cock inside him bigger. “That’s what you need.” _

_ “Yeah,” Mitch agrees, head lolling until his forehead rests against Scott’s jaw. “Need it.” _

_ Scott presses a kiss to Mitch’s head and then pushes him upright again. His fingers come up to cradle Mitch’s jaw, turning him back toward the window. “Look outside.” _

_ Mitch looks. The cityscape is pretty from here, the towers of the downtown core in the distance, shorter condos and apartment buildings sprawling closer. They’re on the sixth floor, higher than most but not all of the buildings around them. _

_ “You’re getting fucked in front of the whole city, Mitch,” Scott whispers in his ear. “Nothing but clear glass between you and all of them.” _

_ Oh. A shudder runs down Mitch’s spine. Oh, God. _

_ Scott smiles against his neck again, nips and sucks at his skin. “Look down.” _

_ There’s a club on the third floor of a building across the street. It has a rooftop patio, and on a warm summer night like this in LA, it’s packed. Well-dressed people are milling around, some on the dance floor near the DJ, moving in time with the deep thrum of the bass that’s the only part of the music Mitch can hear. More are clustered at the outdoor bar and the small tables scattered around it. Strings of white lights hang all around, illuminating everything, glittering into indistinct bokeh whenever Mitch’s attention shifts away.  _

_ “They have no idea what they’re missing.” Scott lets go of Mitch’s thigh and reaches over to the lamp on the nearby bookcase, the one holding all Scott’s theory books and sheet music. Mitch turns to watch his fingers play with the tassel of the chain. “But all I have to do is pull this, light up the room, and they’d be able to see.” _

_ Jesus. “Scott.” _

_ Scott hums and lets go of the tassel, bringing his hand up to point at a man leaning on the club’s railing, having a smoke away from the main group. It’s hard to tell from here, but he looks handsome, dark skin and a short fade, silver shirt accentuating broad shoulders. “I bet he’d notice first, catch sight of you out of the corner of his eye. He’d be confused until he worked out what was happening. But fuck, then he’d stare. He’d be mesmerized by you. He wouldn’t tell anyone, even if he could tear his eyes away from you long enough to consider it. No. He’d watch for as long as possible, keep you his little secret. His lips would clamp down and he’d take a harsh drag on that cigarette, wishing it was your pretty cock in his mouth.” _

_ Fuck. _

_ Scott’s finger shifts to point at a group of young women, tight tops and short skirts and hair piled high on their heads. “Maybe they’d notice next. One of them would point. Her friends would look over and gasp, giggling into their drinks and shushing each other. But it would be too late. Their lack of subtlety would make everyone look, and then they’d all be watching you.” Scott’s lips trace up Mitch’s neck again, his tongue licking at his earlobe. “And you’d put on a show, wouldn’t you? Tilt your head and preen under their attention? Exaggerate the way your hips are rocking back to meet my cock? Make them all want you?” _

_ Mitch moans and shudders because yes, he would, at least in his imagination. He’d tilt and rock and preen for his audience, feel their gaze and desire and Scott’s control of it all until it made him come. And it would, if it happened like that. He has no doubt he’d come hard in the center of all that attention.  _

_ “Please,” is what he says, not even sure what he’s asking for. He knows Scott won’t really do it; the real life ending would be nothing like the picture being painted. But just the thought that he could is enough. He drops his head back onto Scott’s shoulder again. Rocks his hips to put on the show. “Please.” _

_ Scott’s teeth tug on his earlobe, enough to sting but not hurt. His hand closes around Mitch’s cock and his thrusts speed up. “Come for me, then. Show the whole city you belong to me.” _

_ And Mitch does, because he does.  _

***

Deciding which of their collective furniture to keep is hit and miss. Scott has the bigger, more comfortable bed, already blinged out with convenient places to attach restraints, so that’s an easy choice. The walk-in closet at the new place has enough room for both their dressers so there’s no decision to make there. Mitch doesn’t have a treadmill, so they’ll keep Scott’s, and Scott’s TV and Mitch’s stand will work better together than either of their individual sets do separately.

However, the debate is on when it comes to other items. Mitch’s couch is shorter and darker and in good shape despite being second-hand. Scott’s is long enough for his tall frame, but is an unattractive grey-green color with sags in between its sags.

Scott, for some reason, is emotionally attached to the hideous thing. 

Mitch isn’t having it. He crosses his arms. “It looks like it comes straight out of a frat house.”

The minute flinch around Scott’s eyes suggests that Mitch is bang on the money with this and  _ hell no _ .  He wants to be able to relax on his couch in his own house without wondering if the stain near his face is leftover pudding or come that leaked out of some stranger’s ass. Better yet, he’d like to be able to have sex on his own couch without wondering the same.

His opinion must be reflected in his facial expression, because Scott just sighs and nods acceptance. 

The kitchen table is more contentious. Mitch’s is more stylish. Scott’s is...not. It’s not that Scott’s is bad, per se. It’s definitely of higher quality than the couch. It’s just that it’s very Texas in that it’s too big, too old-fashioned, and too country.

Mitch’s table was one of the first real things he bought for a place of his own. He chose it because he loved and wanted it, not because it was the only affordable thing on Craigslist that was conveniently located. It’s all sleek lines and shining glass inset between layers of dark-stained wood. Buying it made him feel not only like an adult, but a successful one with a decent career that will lead to more shiny things in his future.

Scott walks up to Mitch’s table, eyeing it. He makes a show of how its surface only comes up to his lower thigh. He leans on it, one hand grasping either edge, and shakes. 

It wobbles. A lot.

He smirks at Mitch. “Mine’s taller and sturdier.”

Maybe it’s the way he tilts his hips to accentuate what else he could lean into if he had a better angle, or maybe it’s the way his gaze traces down Mitch’s body and then across the tabletop like he’s picturing something other than a meal laid out for him. 

Whatever the reason, Mitch’s mouth goes dry.  “Mine can go in storage.”

***

_ Mitch tosses his head, rocking his hips as best he can, grateful for the pillow tucked underneath him that’s granting a bit of relief from the solid wood he’s otherwise trapped on. He’s desperately in need of any sort of relief, because although his cock is so hard it’s dripping, it’s also neglected; Scott’s ignoring it and Mitch can’t possibly reach it. _

_ He’s naked, flat on his back on their dining table, heels on the edge bracing his spread, bent legs, ass tilted up by the pillow but pulled right to the edge as well. He doesn’t have much choice in the position because each of his wrists is cuffed to an ankle, keeping him exactly where Scott wants him, unable to do anything but clench his fingers around the hands holding his and curse and moan like he might die any second. _

_ Scott himself is busy, face buried between Mitch’s legs, licking and fucking his hole with his tongue. He’s a damn tease, nibbling across Mitch’s balls, nosing at his perineum, swiping his flat tongue over everything before jamming it inside and setting up a rhythm that might be enough if only he’d sustain it long enough, which he never does. _

_ After a while, Mitch can’t take it any longer. He rocks his hips, chasing Scott’s mouth, desperate for more. “Please.” _

_ Scott pulls back, leaving nothing but the cold air caressing Mitch’s wet skin. “Hmm?” _

_ Like he doesn’t know exactly what Mitch is after. “Fuck me.” _

_ Scott hums. He extricates one big hand from Mitch’s grip and rests it on Mitch’s hip, watching him flex into it. His other hand smooths up Mitch’s thigh. “Oh, you need more? I’m so sorry, baby.” _

_ The concern is a lie, and Mitch kinda hates him for it. Except he doesn’t want to do anything to dissuade moving this along, so he nods and bites his lip and generally tries to look as irresitably fuckable as possible. _

_ It works, because Scott groans low in his throat and puts on a condom, slicking himself with the edible lube he’d started everything out with. Mitch, for all his desperation, is loose and ready and Scott slides in easily. _

_ And then it’s great. Perfect even. Held down. Tied up. Getting fucked like he needs, rocking back onto the cock sliding across his prostate just right. He clenches his fingers around the edge of the table and holds on tight, gasping with relief as every stroke gets him closer to where he needs to be. _

_ Scott’s braced above him on outstretched arms, jaw clenching with effort as he powers into Mitch. He’s not holding back now.  In fact, he seems to be racing towards the finish, trying to get them both off as quickly as possible and fuck, Mitch is all for it.  _

_ Then, just as the pleasure begins to uncoil deep in Mitch’s gut, Scott shifts his stance and his cock changes angle. Mitch is still getting fucked and fucked hard, but now his prostate’s being missed and the build-up that held so much promise is fading. He whines in protest, a high, desperate sound he’d probably be embarrassed by in any other circumstance. _

_ He’s not worried. Scott’s so in tune with his needs and reactions that he’ll fix this, even as close as he is to his own release. However, when Mitch looks up, it’s not concern he sees. There’s determination under the sheen of sweat, and lust. But most of all there’s a cocky, amused smirk. _

_ “Oh God.” Fuck, Scott lost the angle on purpose, the sadistic bastard. Mitch’s wrists strain against his cuffs in a futile attempt to regain some control.  “Please wait, Scott. Please!” _

_ Scott still smirking when he loses his rhythm, hips thrusting erratically. He groans and twists, head falling back, teeth clenching. He’s coming. He’s twitching deep inside Mitch and coming without him, and Mitch would break down and cry if the whole concept didn’t make his dick throb all that much harder. _

_ After a moment, Scott pulls out, smoothing his hands down Mitch’s trembling sides and pressing a kiss to the middle of his chest. He pauses to dispose of the condom, but then he’s pulling up his chair and sitting down again. He grins up at Mitch from between his legs, his playful, sated expression a sharp contrast to Mitch’s still-desperate cock waving in the foreground. Then he’s back to licking and sucking, nibbling and teasing and tongue-fucking and basically starting the whole thing over again, and Mitch can still do nothing but moan and curse and tug on his cuffs as he takes it. _

***

“So I may have forgotten something important,” Scott says, leaning on his -- their -- bedroom door frame. 

Mitch is still at the stage of forgetting they’re now officially living together, because even though they technically are, it’s not yet in the apartment they’ve chosen and is instead in an overcrowded, half-packed, unlivable disaster.

Mitch himself is in the middle of their bed, crossed legged, midi fighter in his hands and laptop just off to the side. He’s trying to figure out a bassline because as much as he’d like to wait until he has his proper set-up back and space to spread out and think, he needs to put out a new track. The last one he released, the song Scott recorded samples for that had met with Zedd’s approval, is currently climbing through the bottom third of the motherfucking Billboard Hot 100 chart, and Mitch wants to strike again while it’s still, well, hot.

Much like their current living space, the bassline isn’t going well. “What?”

“My friend Kirstie is coming to town for a week. She planned on lining up some auditions, and she’s managed to, so she’s definitely coming.”

Scott’s mentioned Kirstie quite a few times; they were best friends in high school and although they went their separate ways for college and their subsequent careers, they’ve kept in close touch. “That’s great. Be cool to meet her. Get all the teenage Scott stories your mom doesn’t know.” Ha. That gets the disgruntled face Mitch was looking for. He smiles and moves his cursor back to the start of the ninth measure for another try. “I’m sure we can work the rest of the packing around whatever time you want to spend with her.”

“Um,” Scott says in a tone that suggests Mitch isn’t going to like what he’s about to say. “Keep in mind I made these plans back in February...”

Uh oh. “What did you do?” Mitch has a sudden bad thought. “Where is she staying?”

“Here.”

Shit. “And when is she coming?”

Scott outright winces. “Tomorrow.”

Mitch looks at the boxes already piled high against the walls, the ones keeping them from even thinking about having sex because one overly-enthusiastic thrust might bring everything down on top of them. He thinks about the other ones scattered in the living room, including everything piled on and all around Mitch’s newly installed couch, i.e., Kirstie’s presumed bed for the next week. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

***

_ Scott’s clearly confused when he’s lead into Mitch’s music room, ushered into the swivel chair behind Mitch’s mixer, decks, and laptop. He’s less confused when Mitch settles into his lap, humming approval and wrapping his long arms around Mitch’s waist, hands already starting to explore.  _

_ But Mitch isn’t ready to be distracted yet. He has a present for Scott,and he’s not entirely sure how it’ll be received. So he captures Scott’s wandering hands in his own, planting them on the relative safety of his hips before reaching for his mouse. _

_ Scott looks at him curiously before resting his chin on Mitch’s shoulder, watching as he loads the file he wants into Ableton Live. Mitch doesn’t click play though,  not yet. This needs some preamble, and he shifts on Scott’s lap so he can see his face. _

_ “Okay, so remember when you let me record us messing around?” _

_ Scott blinks. “The messing around we did on the piano, or the messing around under it?” _

_ Mmm, now that was a good day. Mitch kind of forgot they’d recorded actual music as well. “Under it.” _

_ Oooh, now he’s got Scott’s attention. And his memory, judging by the lip bite. _

_ Mitch starts the track, insanely proud of what he’s done, but nervous for Scott’s reaction.  _

_ It starts on a cry of release, Mitch’s specifically, although isolated and pitch-corrected. Then there’s a gentle rewind and fade before the song itself starts, if he uses the term “song” loosely. There are gasps and sighs that are atonal and blurred just enough to make it hard to tell where one begins and another ends. Groans and curses are linked together, shifted up and down as required to make a scattered but followable melody, interwoven with layers of harmony and dissonance, looped and repeated and built as it goes. The whole thing is a steady 72 beats per minute with a thick, seductive bass forming the backbone of the groove, the dynamic pull of each measure giving the sensation of a rocking boat or, more appropriately, a deep fuck.  _

_ It’s the sexiest thing Mitch has ever heard, if he does say so himself. _

_ Scott is entranced from the first bar. “Oh my God.” _

_ At first, he seems to be able to maintain some distance as he processes what he’s hearing, blue eyes flicking over the waveform displayed on the screen. He’s listening like an artist, appreciating the techniques and combination of effects that have lead to the result in front of him. _

_ That all changes when a sample of Mitch’s voice, breathy and desperate, becomes the focus. A strident ‘please!’ echoes through the speakers, ending with a gasp and a whine and then repeating, volume and tone increasing in step with the beat. Scott’s own breath quickens along with it, and he shifts under Mitch, no doubt to relieve the rapid tightening of his jeans. _

_ Mitch has some sympathy, because this is also the part that’s made him hardest every time he’s worked on the track. _

_ The song continues building, Scott’s commands and consolations joining Mitch’s pleas as it goes, until it reaches the end, groove abruptly cutting off with a repeat of the cry that started it all, with only a shuddering breath and a half accompanying the otherwise silent finish of the last six beats of the phrase. _

_ Scott doesn’t move when it ends, just keeps staring at the interface on the screen. _

_ Long seconds pass and Mitch’s nerves get the better of him. “It’s just for us. I can’t release it, obviously. I mean, I suppose I could, but it would be so over the line, Javier would freak. And even if I wanted to, I’d never dream of doing so without you approving absolutely everything about it. I just thought it might be-- mmph!” _

_ Scott grabs Mitch’s jaw and pulls his mouth down onto his own, forcing his way in and kissing Mitch until he’s lightheaded and desperate for oxygen. He rocks his hips up, and Mitch is left with no illusions on how hard he is. _

_ “So you like it?” he asks when he’s finally given the chance.  _

_ “Mmm hmm.” The fingers of one of Scott’s hands curl over Mitch’s cheek, while the others head straight for his belt, tugging the leather out of its loop and then tackling his fly. “You remember what I did to you under the piano to make you sound like that?” _

_ God, does he ever. “Yes.” _

_ Scott grins, lopsided and feral. “I’m going to do it again under this desk. Put the track on repeat and get on the floor.” _

Fuck. _ Yes, Daddy. _

***

Mitch knew Kirstie and Scott had dated for a while back in the day, but hadn’t really thought through everything that might entail. Like the fact they’d lost their virginity to each other. 

“How’d that go?” Mitch asks, before he can think better of it. 

“Awkward,” Kirstie says, taking another sip of wine. She arrived on their doorstep with four bottles for them, which instantly made her Mitch’s favorite houseguest ever. “Missionary, painful, and over in five seconds.” She smirks at Scott. “I hope you’ve improved, for Mitch’s sake.”

“I hate you so much right now,” Scott says from behind his hands. Then he surfaces with a smirk of his own. “You weren’t any better, Miss ‘How Is That Supposed To Fit?’.”

She flushes red. “Shut up.”

Scott laughs at her and then turns to Mitch. “Honestly, we’re lucky we even knew enough to use condoms. Not like school taught us anything besides ‘save yourself for marriage’. I mean, my parents tried, but it was embarrassing and vague and I was too confused in general to know what to ask. ”

Kirstie nods. “Thankfully, my mom was less of a prude.”

Connie and Rick have never struck Mitch as particularly prudish, but he guesses a lot can change in a decade. They’d probably had some growing up to do themselves, if only to adapt to Scott’s evolving choice of bed partner in an unfriendly climate. 

Not that his taste was apparently ever bad. Kirstie has been there for only two days, and she’s been a tiny whirlwind of humor, talent, sarcasm, fashion, and good looks. Scott clearly has a type, even if some of the details have changed. 

Then again, he seems to have similar taste in friends.  

“What other stories can you tell me about Baby Scotty?” Mitch asks, smirking when Scott groans, head falling back to rest on the wall of boxes behind him. 

He blindly holds his glass up in Kirstie’s general direction. “At least pour me more wine first, you traitorous bitch.”

She turns to Mitch and earnestly says, “Well for one, he’s always been bossy.”

Mitch laughs. “You have no idea.” But then he pauses and thinks about it. “Or maybe you do?”

Kirstie bursts into giggles and Scott just sighs and holds his glass up higher. 

***

_ “Are you going to put your back into this at some point?” Scott bitches, hands tugging at Mitch’s shoulders. “Or do we need to start some sort of workout program to train you for it?” _

_ “You’re grumpy for someone who’s getting the fuck he demanded,” Mitch gripes back. And yeah, maybe he’s a bit out of breath because they haven’t done this in a while and it’s showing. He shifts his weight down to his elbows to give his arms a break. “I’d have been perfectly happy letting you do all the work.” _

_ Scott’s eyes narrow. “Are you complaining?” _

_ “No,” Mitch says, making an effort to sound contrite. And he  _ isn’t  _ complaining, because as rare as the offer is, Scott’s ass is always too perfect to turn down. He rallies and finds some more energy, channeling it into deeper, harder thrusts that shake the bed despite the burning in his quads and glutes. _

_ “Good.” Scott’s sounding smug now. He arches his back, accentuating the tendons in his neck and nestling the back of his head deeper into the pillow. The hands on Mitch’s shoulders let go and one of them slides across Mitch’s chest, pinching a nipple to no doubt remind him who’s in charge. Scott’s eyes fall closed and his mouth open when his other hand wraps around his dick and starts stroking and damn, that image sends a pulse of heat and want through Mitch so strong that he whines and loses track of his rhythm. _

_ Scott’s eyes pop open, head lifting. “Don’t you dare.” _

_ “Won’t. Sorry.” It’s a struggle, but Mitch manages to push his orgasm away, waiting a beat before restarting his thrusts, albeit more slowly. His legs are happier with the new pace, even if his cock isn’t. He huffs at Scott’s distrusting expression. “I think you might be even bossier when you’re bottoming.” _

_ “Maybe.” Scott shrugs, relaxing back into his pillow. “Maybe you like it that way.” _

_ Mmm, yeah. Maybe Mitch does. _

_ Scott’s mouth curves into a sly smile. “And next time, maybe I’ll chain you down, add a plug and a gag, and enjoy a good long ride while you strain and struggle underneath me.”  _

_ Jesus. Mitch’s hips stutter and twist and it’s everything he can do not to come right then and there. He grits his teeth, whining when Scott cruelly clamps the muscles of his ass down around him. Thankfully that’s all he does, otherwise holding still until the wave of it passes and Mitch can risk breathing again.  _

_ Scott grins. “You’re so predictable.” He tugs Mitch down for a kiss, and then shoves him back upright and reaches for his own cock again. “Now, get moving and fuck me.” _

***

It seems like no time at all before Kirstie’s heading back to New York. Mitch is sorry to see her go, but pleased that they exchanged numbers and socials so they can continue building on their new friendship and mutual goal of tormenting Scott.

However, he doesn’t have time to miss her with everything else that still needs to be done. Between packing, dealing with all the bureaucracy involved in having a new address, and keeping up with work commitments, there’s little time for anything else.

Even his birthday is just a thoughtful gift and a nice dinner out rather than the big fuss Mitch would normally associate with the first one of a relationship. Scott’s apologetic, but Mitch is actually pleased. He’s heading out on a five week US tour with Giana at the start of September, and the precedent of neither of them having time, space, or energy to properly celebrate Mitch’s birthday relieves a lot of the guilt he’s proactively feeling about missing Scott’s entirely.

When the big day finally comes, the piano movers show up an hour before scheduled, so everything starts earlier than Mitch had hoped. But after that it goes surprisingly well.

Mitch is amazed by how many people stop by to help, just on the promise of cheap pizza and hard work. He supposes he shouldn’t be; Scott collects friends and contacts as easily as breathing. But it’s also Mitch’s people who have turned up. Devon, Sarah, and Mohammed from his time at Cal Arts. Mitch’s favorite of Gi’s backup singers, Chelsea, and her wife whose name Mitch always fucks up. Hell, even his manager Javier comes, although if the way he shoves a bottle of wine into Mitch’s hands before escaping to the balcony for a smoke is any indication, he came more to schmooze than to help.

Millie, accompanied by Vivica in one of those backpack-on-the-front carrier things, takes charge of the unpacking efforts, looking to Mitch only for decisions on where stuff should go but otherwise ordering him around like everyone else. Jeff, possibly to avoid being drafted into his girlfriend’s army of minions, sticks with Scott and the rest of the physically adept types as they make a million trips up and down the stairs and elevator with boxes and bags and overly bulky furniture that makes Mitch wince just thinking about trying to maneuver it through narrow halls and doorways. 

Mitch himself retreats to the bedroom to start unpacking the stuff he’d put in storage. He didn’t think he’d get it all back until later in the week, but Mo volunteered himself and his pickup to go get it, coming back only a couple of hours later. Mitch is going to have to offer some production time or something for his next project in an attempt to make it up to him.

He’s pondering just how far over the centerline of the closet he can claim without Scott noticing, when Jeff wanders into the bedroom, carrying a box. “Where do you want this?”

Considering that the box has ‘MASTER BATH’ scrawled across it in sharpie, Mitch isn’t sure where the confusion lies, but he points him in the right direction anyway.

“Thanks!” It’s quiet for a moment before Mitch hears him say, “Holy shit.” 

Mitch frowns and follows. “Everything okay?”

Jeff’s frozen in the middle of the bathroom, staring at the shower. 

Ah, that makes sense. Mitch has to admit it’s impressive and one of the main reasons he and Scott agreed to take the place so quickly. “It’s nice, huh?”

“Nice?” Jeff opens the door in the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling glass and steps inside, admiring the space, the beautiful tile pattern, and the multiple standard, body, and rainfall showerheads. “Nice?”

“Amazing?” Mitch tries.

“Better.” He raises his voice. “Millie?” 

“Yes, Jeff?” comes her response from the living room.

“Have you seen this amazing shower?”

“Yes, Jeff.” There’s a note of amusement in her voice now.

Jeff purses his lips. “We need to make more money so we can find a place with an amazing shower like this!”

“Yes, Jeff.” She’s definitely laughing. 

It might not be as hard as they think. The more money for a nicer home part, Mitch means. They’re on their own in finding or building an amazing shower.

Millie and Scott finally recorded their version of Take Me to Church. It’s utterly gorgeous, just them in a studio belting for their lives, with Jeff on the piano in the background. It went semi-viral all on its own, benefiting from the increased exposure Scott’s channel is receiving due to his voice being the center of Mitch’s charting track, which in itself is benefiting from Giana’s current rise to fame. But then Hozier had seen it, and his compliment-filled retweet did wonders for both their views and their egos.

Now Scott and Millie are partway through producing on an EP together, half originals and half covers. Mitch, of course, thinks it’s great, and that opinion is confirmed by Javier who, after having accidentally heard only one part of one song on it, has begun a campaign to poach both Millie and Scott away from their current management.

Come to think of it,  _ that _ ’s a far more plausible reason for Jav to turn up today than either helping  _ or  _ schmoozing. Mystery solved.

Mitch’s thoughts and Jeff’s shower worship are interrupted when Millie yells, “Scott seems to think he’s going to drag the treadmill up all by himself!”

“No, he fucking isn’t!” Mitch calls back.

Jeff snorts and heads back to the living room. “I’m on it.”

Mitch listens to Scott’s half-hearted protests and absently ponders the shower, looking forward to trying it out once everyone’s gone home, assuming his boyfriend doesn’t maim himself in the meantime. 

***

_ Scott’s cock is softening — the taste of it is still lingering on Mitch’s tongue — but it’s the only part that is. His forearm is braced across Mitch’s chest, pinning him against the wall of the shower. His jaw is clenched as he stares, pupils wide with lust, hair slicked back and water-dark. His legs are spread, stabilizing them both on the tile floor and allowing him to really loom. Fuck, the looming is fantastic. Not as fantastic as the two fingers he’s twisting and curling inside of Mitch but still really, really great. Perfect, even. _

_ Scott slides his thumb under Mitch’s balls, pressing into the tender skin there in time with the slide of his fingers and the quickening of Mitch’s breath. All of it together is sending shocks up Mitch’s spine and along his cock, still untouched save for the water splashing over it whenever Scott leans just the slightest bit to one side.  _

_ Mitch’s head falls back at a particularly sharp thrust and he gasps. He can imagine how he looks, soaking wet and trapped under Scott’s arm, rocking on his fingers and submitting to his stare. He whines in the back of his throat as Scott leans closer.  _

_ “Baby,” he breathes into Mitch’s ear. It feels warm, even through the steam billowing around them. He nips at Mitch’s jawline, nuzzles into his neck. The skin of his thigh slides across the tip of Mitch’s cock, turning his whine into a whimper.  “So beautiful.” He crooks his fingers and Mitch shudders. “So responsive.” _

_ “Daddy,” Mitch whispers, unsure of how much more he can stand. His hands are at his sides where Scott wants them, fingertips slipping and sliding across the tile wall, searching for purchase and finding none. “Need to come.” _

_ Scott hums and his forearm eases against Mitch’s chest. He nudges them just an inch or two to the left, until they’re directly underneath the nearest of the rainfall showerheads. Then his weight is back, pinning Mitch to the wall again, except this time hot water is cascading over their heads, plastering their hair down, forcing their mouths to gasp open just to breathe. Better still, the water’s landing directly on Mitch’s cock, and the feel of it flowing over and around him is exquisite and decadent and he’s on the cusp in less than ten seconds. _

_ Scott’s fingers twist, prodding relentlessly at Mitch’s prostate. His loom grows moreso, and he watches Mitch struggle for a few more torturous moments before murmuring, “Come,” in a voice deep and hoarse enough that Mitch wouldn’t dream of disobeying, even if he wanted to. And then Mitch is shaking and rocking and gasping his way through a white-hot orgasm, knees weak and head lolling, grateful when Scott not only manages to keep him upright, but also from drowning. _

***

“Mitchell, why are these in a box marked ‘kitchen’?” Millie asks. 

Mitch peers out from where he’s wedged behind the TV, hooking everything up. She’s standing behind the kitchen counter, holding up several pairs of white athletic socks. “Those are Scott’s, and I have no idea.”

“Because there was room in it,” Scott announces as he swoops back into the living room carrying Vivica, who presumably is once more enjoying a clean diaper. He sets her back into her weird blob of a baby seat and boops her on the nose, much to her delight. Then he turns back to the boxes of books piled nearby and resumes unloading them onto the bookshelf, his tiny fan watching his every move. “Anything marked ‘bedroom’ was filled up with Mitch’s stuff before I ever saw it.”

Mitch rolls his eyes and finally locates the HDMI connector he was looking for. “Maybe if you’d labelled some boxes yourself, you could have used those.”

“He’s got you there,” Millie says, apparently having dismissed the socks to move onto whatever else is in the box. “I’ve seen your packing skills in action before.”

“Bad?” Mitch asks.

“Disastrous.”

“And this is why we never dated,” Scott tells her, placing a picture frame on a shelf. “You’re too mean.”

“Uh huh,” Mitch mutters. “ _ That’s _ why you never dated.”

Millie snorts and tries to cover it with a poorly timed cough.

Scott’s narrows his eyes. “What?” 

Millie holds up a placating hand. “To be fair, if he hadn’t obviously been gayer than a rainbow--”

“I wasn’t  _ obviously _ gayer than a rainbow,” Scott interrupts, looking far more disgruntled than the situation warrants. “People thought I was straight back then.”

Millie just stares at him.

“They did!” he insists. 

She raises a sculpted eyebrow.

Scott scowls and slides a row of magazines --  _ Out _ , no less --  onto the bottom shelf. “Well,  _ some _ of them did.”

Mitch attempts to smother a laugh and only succeeds in making himself  _ actually  _ cough.

“I’m ever so sorry your closet door wasn’t as opaque as you thought,” Millie informs him. She turns back to Mitch and smiles. “As I was saying, if he wasn’t gayer than a rainbow, I’d have taken him for a ride years ago.” 

Mitch stops to think about that. He isn’t normally all that turned on by the thought of straight sex, but they’re both so beautiful it could work in the abstract at least. Maybe an artsy black and white photoshoot, with natural light and the stark shadow of a window frame spilling across Scott’s broad back and Millie’s curled legs… it would make a great album cover for them if it wouldn’t set up entirely the wrong expectations in their inevitable fanbase.

He’s infinitely grateful that his involuntary models are still bickering with each other and not noticing that his brain has descended into a gutter of inappropriate aesthetic appeal.

“If I wasn’t ‘gayer than a rainbow,’” Scott responds, mimicking Millie’s higher pitch and accent in a completely unflattering way. “I’d have been following you around everywhere, praying for you to notice me.” 

“You did that anyway, Scooter.” 

“I did not!“ 

“Like a lovesick puppy.” 

“Okay, fine. But in my defense, I was new at the school and you were popular and talented as fuck.” 

“Granted. ” She rummages around in the box on the counter in front of her. “Can either of you explain to me why you have two bottle openers, three corkscrews, and not a single can opener between you?”

Oh, this one Mitch can answer. “I get all my calories from Chardonnay.”

Scott nods. “What he said.”

“Pathetic,” Millie declares.

“Ba da ba,” Vivica agrees. 

***

_ Mitch isn’t sure how they got here. One minute, he’s opening a third bottle to continue their overindulgent wine and movie night, and the next, he’s flat on his back on cold linoleum, pants around his knees, gasping and groaning as his cock disappears into Scott’s warm, wet mouth. _

_ Not that he’s complaining. He’s a big fan of spontaneous blow jobs, either giving or receiving. It’s just that he’s drunk enough that he can’t quite tell if it happened as fast as he recalls, or if his memory is as fuzzy as his fingertips winding clumsily through Scott’s hair and across his jaw. _

_ Scott’s drunk too, definitely. If the way he staggered into the side of the counter when he’d followed Mitch to the kitchen, giggling along when Mitch laughed at him, wasn’t enough to give it away, then the sloppiness of his current technique certainly would. There’s little rhythm, a lot of wet, and the suction is inconsistent at best.  _

_ Again, Mitch isn’t complaining. His cock is down his favorite person in the world’s throat, and his head is pleasantly spinning, and the hands on his hips are holding him tight enough to mean it, and really, everything is right in the world. _

_ Except the ugly light on the kitchen ceiling that the apartment came with. That’s not right. They need to replace that soon. He doesn’t notice it often, but it’s really obviously horribly atrociously bad from this angle. Maybe something a little more modern would be-- _

_ That’s as far as the thought gets, because Scott groans and pulls off, taking a few shaky breaths, fingers digging into Mitch’s hips, before licking greedily at Mitch’s tip and then diving back in to take him deep.  _

_ Mitch’s toes, as fuzzy-feeling as his fingertips, start to curl, and he soon doesn’t have the capacity to think of bad decor or anything else. _

***

After one last round of friendly hugs and kisses to sleeping baby cheeks, Scott closes the door behind Millie and leans against it, sighing with obvious relief.

Mitch understands how he feels. Everyone was amazing and helpful and good company, but Mitch is ready to shed the remains of being social and decompress.

Scott looks around their completed space, expression a mix of satisfaction and bewilderment. “That was way more efficient than I thought.”

“Helps when you have, well, a lot more help than planned,” Mitch replies. But he’s amazed too. Apart from a few boxes stacked in a corner, and a set of screwdrivers still scattered on the dining room table, it doesn’t look like they just moved in at all. Which leads to some interesting possibilities. “Is your schedule still mostly clear this week?”

Scott nods. “Yeah. I guess I should try to book some studio time. Get something productive done now that we won’t be spending the time unpacking and organizing.”

Mitch purses his lips, taps his finger against them twice. “Or we could spend the time christening all our pretty new rooms.” He lets his fingers trail down his neck, tilts his head back. “Break them all in one by one.”

Scott smiles and steps towards him. “I love the way you think.”

***

_ They’re in the middle of the couch, Scott sitting and Mitch astride his lap. Scott’s hands are on his back and his cock is filling his ass, and there’s nothing prettier than watching Scott gasp whenever Mitch clenches down with the rock of his hips.  _

_ Mitch tugs Scott’s head back so he’s at a better angle. The move is appreciated, if the way Scott’s hands smooth over his skin and the groan that vibrates through his chest are any indication. Mitch readjusts his knees and then leans in, changing the angle of their connection and letting Scott nibble across his collarbone, sucking a bruise into the hollow of his throat because he’s a possessive bastard even when he’s being passive. _

_ “You like our new home?” Scott asks, licking at the mark he’s made with far too much satisfaction. _

_ Mitch pulls back and grins down at him, admiring the smile he gets in return. He cups Scott’s jaw, fingers sliding through his scruff, thumbs tracing his bottom lip. “You’re in it. What’s not to like?” _

_ Scott’s smile grows wider. His hands cradle the back of Mitch’s head, pulling him down for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet, somehow both complementing and contrasting the steadily increasing pace of their hips.  _

_ A warmth spreads through Mitch’s chest and he can’t quite believe, even with the evidence all around and literally inside him, that he’s somehow found everything he needs. He pulls away from Scott’s lips to gasp. “I love you.” _

_ Scott’s fingers tighten around his head, and he moans, “Fuck, I love you too. So much.” _

_ Then one of Scott’s hand is traveling down Mitch’s back, sliding around his side and across his belly before wrapping around his cock. He slides the circle of his fist up once, twice, from base to tip, squeezing beautifully as he goes, and then pauses. His other hand pulls Mitch towards him so their foreheads rest together, breath mingling. His lips settle into a smirk, and he looks up at Mitch with a challenge in his eyes, daring him to set the pace.  _

_ And so Mitch does, fucking back onto Scott’s cock and forward into his hand, and it’s fast and hard and maybe a little reckless. But that’s fine because wherever they’re going, however they get there, they’ll go all out and they’ll do it together. _

 

**Thoughts?**

  
  
  



End file.
